No Tables Left
by My2BrownEyes
Summary: Loki tells of the first time he met Steve Rogers...in Europe during World War II. It's a night Loki will never forget. Romance.


**A/N: **So instead of working on my multi-chapter story, Loki wouldn't stop pestering me until I wrote this. So here it is.

I do not own any of the Marvel characters. Apparently, they own me.

* * *

Asgard was at peace. There were no battles or skirmishes or quests to be had. In short, it was boring. As you well know, boring does not sit well on Odin's blond son. So Thor wanted to go back to Midgard. Whenever Thor wanted to go back to Midgard, he tried to get me to accompany him. You remember.

_I do._

"I don't know why I must go," I told him. "You always end up deserting me as soon as you find a wench to spend your time with."

"That is not true," the God of Thunder insisted. "It is not always true," he corrected. "Okay, I promise this time will be different. I will remain with you."

"And they call me the Liesmith." Well it had been awhile since he and I last visited Midgard. The world had been changing so much, I could not help but wonder what it was like now. "Fine. Let us go to Midgard."

I was of course correct. As soon as Thor found a pretty girl with long legs and a willing smile, he abandoned me. It was no matter. It was actually easier to explore the world without having to deal with my brother's interruptions or his ego.

I liked to blend in, to make myself appear as one of them. It was so much easier to understand them that way, to diminish any expectations they may have had of me. Thor, on the other hand, loved to present himself as their deity to be worshipped. It was fine until the last few visits when no one believed he was Thor, did not believe in Thor at all it would seem. I found it rather sad, though that was quickly chased away by the amusement I felt at them trying to put him into what they called a sanitarium. It is a good thing my brother is so strong else I would have had to trick my way into getting him out. Thankfully, that was not necessary. He escaped, and we went elsewhere, somewhere he was if not recognized than at least admired greatly.

Anyway, this trip was not quite so difficult. Thor had learned his lesson with the last few trips and no longer did the 'I am Thor, God of Thunder. Bow to me' act. He found his girl and left me to my own devices.

The clothes had again changed. The women's skirts were shorter. The men's style was more tailored. I concluded that there was a war occurring based on the amount of weaponry I was seeing.

I needed a drink. I noticed a place where only men in certain uniforms were allowed in. I of course changed into one of those – light tan trousers, shirt, jacket, and hat, and a black tie. There were gold bars on the collar. Not sure what they meant. I gave myself a middling amount. And there was a lapel pin with a name. I did not want to put Odinson on mine. Instead, I decided to use Friggason instead. The whole ensemble made me feel rather dashing to be honest.

_Friggason? Really? _

Really.

I walked in with confidence. (Honestly, doing something with confidence will usually prevent anyone from questioning you.) It was dark inside, and that made me happy. I could listen and watch these Midgardians without being too obvious.

I ordered a beer and seated myself at the only open table available.

The beer was good. It didn't come anywhere near the brews we have, but it was good for a Midgardian beer. I drank it as I surveyed the room, catching snatches of conversation here and there. Midgard was indeed at war. Apparently it was the second time. They were fighting someone called Hitler. Hitler was described as an expansionist (though harsher words were used), wanting to control the entire world.

There were discussions about things called moving pictures with beautiful women in them. The men seemed very excited by someone named Rita Hayworth.

Just as I was about half way through my mug, a handsome man with dark hair and lightly tanned skin walked up to me. His eyes were brown, slightly hooded. His lips were full, a cocky smile on his lips.

"Hey, sorry to bother you."

His accent was strange, exotic.

"Sergeant Friggason," he read. "I'm Bucky. My friends and I were wondering if we could sit with you since there doesn't seem to be any empty tables."

I looked around. This man (Bucky) was correct. There were no empty tables, but there were other tables with just one occupant.

"Why this one?" I enquired.

"You'd have to ask Steve. He's the one that suggested yours. So can we?"

_Steve._

Yes.

I did not see the harm in it. "Of course. I was almost done anyway," I told him.

The man went away but came back quickly with quite a few friends in tow. They were all different shades and sizes. One had the polished look of Fandral with a mustache but no beard, the blond hair coiffed perfectly. Another reminded me of Hogun with slanted eyes and dark hair. A third brought Heimdall to mind with his dark skin. This one, though, had very dark brown eyes instead of amber ones. Volstagg was somewhat represented by a large-ish man with a very bushy mustache.

There was another man, blond, shy it would appear but who sat next to me, thanking me for sharing my table. I told him it is nothing. And there was yet another man, small with dark hair and olive skin who spoke a different language, French I believe. The Heimdall look-alike knew his language, and they began to converse. I was able to catch some words but not all. The original requester with his plump mouth sat next to the blond.

Each of them held a tankard of beer in their hands.

"Hey, thanks again, pal," the one I originally talked to said.

"Don't mention it."

The blond next to me played with a napkin, folding it this way and that. He took his pencil from his ear and began to draw.

"A fellow countryman," the Fandral look-alike exclaimed. "James Falsworth at your service." He introduced the rest of the group. The one with bushy mustache was Dum Dum Dugan, if you can believe that. The one that looked like Hogun was called Morita. The French speaker was Dernier, and his translator was Jones. The artist was introduced as Captain Steve Rogers.

Everyone paused to look at me with expectation in their eyes, all except the young man in question who looked rather embarrassed. I had no idea why this was. "Nice to meet all of you," I said.

"That's Captain Rogers," the one named Bucky said.

"Yes, I did manage to follow that."

"Captain America," he said as though that should mean something to me. "Come on! You can't tell me you've never heard of Captain America."

The artist looked up at me in surprise. His eyes were amazingly blue and innocent looking. "My apologies," I told him. "I've been away. Should I know you?"

"No," he said with a small smile.

The other men disagreed and could not get over that I had never heard of such a man. It was interesting at first, hearing them describe some of their exploits with the Captain at the forefront, but then it became rather boring. If I had wanted to hear stories of battle, I could have stayed home.

I excused myself from the table and sat at the bar instead. The young blond came over, the pencil back in his ear, and sat next to me.

"Sorry about the guys," he said. "And I'm sorry we took your table."

"Doesn't matter," I told him. "I can drink just as well here. The view leaves much to be desired, but I'll make do."

"At least let me buy you a drink to make up for it."

I told him it wasn't necessary, but he insisted. "Thank you, Captain."

"Please, call me Steve."

"Steve," I repeated back to him.

With a new beer in my hand, Steve asked what unit I was with. I had no idea how I should answer. If I spoke incorrectly, he'd know I didn't belong there. So I told him it was classified, which is their word for being top secret.

"Top secret, huh? Can you give me a first name at least?"

"Loki," I replied.

The artist looked up at me with surprise. "Like the Norse god?"

"Yes. You know of him?" I'm sorry to say the 'Norse Gods' have continued to fall out of favor since the Vikings invaded Brittania.

"Yeah. Trickster god used to get Asgard out of trouble all the time, usually after putting them there in the first place."

I smiled. How could I not? This one was intelligent and knew of us. "Yes. I was named after him, a joke from my father. Still, my brother is named Thor, so I cannot complain."

"That's interesting."

I noticed he was looking at me with more interest than before. This made me curious. "So tell me, fair Steve, which Loki story is your favorite?"

"Oh, that's easy. The one where he bets his head, then loses the bet, but manages to keep his head by saying he didn't wager his neck. And since you can't get the head without damaging the neck, he won."

I remembered that well. It was not so fun while it was happening. It had required me to use a lot of brainpower to get out of that one.

_I remember. I didn't think you'd be able to get out of it. It made me very nervous._

My apologies.

Steve continued. "You know, I always wondered if Shakespeare got the verdict in The Merchant of Venice from that story."

"He did," I assured him then remembered I wouldn't have existed back then to have that conversation with the playwright. "So I've heard," I added to be safe. "You are an artist?" I asked to change the subject.

"How did you know?" he asked with sincerity. It was, dare I say it, one of the sweetest things I had ever seen.

"You were doodling earlier. The pencil is back in your ear."

"Oh, right. Yeah. I'm not very good."

"I prefer to judge that myself." I argued internally about what to say next. In the end, I said, "I'd love to see your work." The tone of my voice could be inferred as either innocent or sinful. I must admit, I was rather hoping he'd see it as an advance and agree to it.

"Oh, well, I don't really have anything, just my sketchbook."

"And where is that?" I asked still trying to walk that tightrope.

That was when Bucky came up and tried to ruin it all. "Steve," he said. "The guys are starting to think you've ditched us."

"Of course not," the Captain said. "I'll join you in a bit."

Bucky looked at me as though I were a threat. It made me wonder if they were lovers. "He seems jealous," I said after he left.

"Bucky? Nah," Steve replied with a chuckle. "He just looks out for me. Always has."

"Do you have a girl?" I asked.

"Yeah. Well, no." I waited for him to explain. "There's a girl I like, but she doesn't feel the same way."

"She's a fool."

"No," he said with sincerity. "She's one of the smartest people I've met. I've got a picture of her if you'd like to see it."

"Of course."

He pulled out a compass and opened it, revealing a small circular picture of a woman's face. She was pretty, fair skin and dark hair. I cupped my hand over his, the pretense being to hold the picture steady. In reality, I simply wanted to see how he'd react. He flinched a little at the touch.

"Your hand is cold."

"Sorry. They have always been cold." I pretended to continue looking at the picture, making comments about the woman, asking questions about her.

He made no move to pull away. I must have held his hand for a good minute or two. Finally, I let my hand drop, making one last comment. He shut the compass and put it away as soon as my hand left his. I found that most interesting.

It called for another experiment. I waited for him to lay his hand down on the bar. I laid my hand down as well, ensuring our fingers touched. Again, he didn't jerk away. He let our fingers touch for a moment before separating his hand from mine. That was promising.

We talked a bit more about how they met. During his story, I shifted and opened my legs more until my knee touched his. He tensed slightly but didn't pull away. Well, he didn't pull away until Bucky arrived once again.

The friend came up to buy more beer, or so he claimed. But before he left, he whispered something in Steve's ear that made his sweet smile disappear. I was not pleased. The friend left with barely a word to me.

"I should get back to the others," Steve said.

"Is he in love with you?" I asked.

He was flabbergasted at the question. "Bucky? No."

"He seems awfully jealous."

"He's just looking out for me," Steve explained. "He's always looked out for me."

"So you said. That's sweet. By all means, return to your friends." I finished my drink and stood.

"Are you leaving?" he asked. His eyes were extraordinary.

"You're returning back to your friends, which means I no longer have a reason to stay." He let my eyes drink him in for a moment. "My only regret is that I shan't get to see your sketches."

Steve looked at his friends and turned back to me. "There's a fountain about two blocks from here. Give me ten minutes. I'll meet you there."

I did not smile though I wanted to. No doubt my triumph was evident in my eyes. I could not help that. Thanking him with a handshake, I left the bar.

The fountain was easy enough to find. I must admit I did consider leaving. But there was something in his eyes that made me stay. Or perhaps it was his pouty lips that looked so kissable. How odd. I had planned on seducing a woman if I felt the urge, but this man drove all thoughts of breasts and vaginas out of my mind.

It was a very long wait.

The smile on my lips would not be suppressed when I saw him come. "No reprimands from your friends for leaving them so soon?"

"Nope. I told them I wanted a little time to myself."

"Good. Well where to now, my good Captain."

"I thought we'd sit for a while." Sit we did. And then words I had not been expecting escaped his lips. "Loki Friggason? Really? You must have really thought no one would know the Nordic gods. But the last name really should have been Odinson." His eyes were harder. No, not harder. They were…questioning, evaluating.

"Friggason is not my last name," I admitted. "But Loki is my first."

"And I'm just supposed to believe that, Sergeant Loki Friggason whose unit is classified?"

"I chose Friggason because of my first name, I admit it. I cannot tell you any more due to the classified nature of my work."

"I'm Captain America. I pretty much have every security clearance available."

"Even for England?"

That stopped him for a moment. "How do I know you're not a German spy?"

"Need I remind you that you all came to my table and not vice versa? I didn't even know who you were."

I could tell that he was mulling over the words I had spoken.

Growing impatient I continued, "So sitting at the bar, was that simply you trying to assess whether I was a threat?"

"No."

I asked him if that meant I would get to see his sketchbook. "I mean that both literally and as a euphemism."

"A euphemism for what?" he asked apprehensively.

"For sex, obviously." My patience was wearing thin. I regretted the statement as soon as it left my lips.

His mouth was agape, and his eyes grew large.

I rose then, figuring there was no hope for even stimulating conversation at this point. "Go back to your friends, Captain. I'm sure they are worried."

As soon as I turned to go, I heard him calling out to me to wait. It made me pause. And then he said, "Please." I hesitated before turning around to face him.

"Why?"

"I still need to determine if you're a threat or not."

"To the war or your masculinity?"

His eyes hardened again. "The war," he answered.

I considered what to say next. Admittedly, I let my eyes wander over him as I considered it. "Show me your sketchbook (in the literal sense) and I will answer your questions."

He took a moment to weigh his options. "Okay," he finally responded.

I nodded to him and asked him to lead the way.

It was a short walk to his room, and I was absolutely delighted to find he did not share it. I immediately sat on his bed and waited. He retrieved his sketchbook from his night table and sat next to me.

He held it against his chest as though protecting it, afraid to let another set of eyes look through it. Holding out my hand, I told him, "Let's see it. No art, no answers."

The way he gently handed it to me was sweet, and I suddenly wanted to protect him. What a silly thought. I took it and began looking through it, feeling his eyes watching me and hungering for a reaction. The sketches were all in pencil and were all quite good. Many were of the girl he wished was his.

"Impressive."

He let out a soft breath. "Thank you."

"You had some questions?" I asked, handing back his sketchbook.

He put it back on the small table. "Who are you really?"

"Well, I can see you like to cut straight to the heart of the issue. I am Loki."

"Loki who?"

"If I told you, you wouldn't believe me. Suffice it to say, I am not your enemy."

"And I'm just supposed to believe you?"

"How could I possibly prove it to you?" I asked as I touched the edge of his hand with mine. He didn't pull away. I sighed, trying to remember snatches of conversation I had heard throughout the day and newspaper headlines and whatnot. "I was stationed in North Africa (Tunisia to be precise) and have only just arrived on the Western front. So I don't know anything really about what's been going on here."

His eyes, those skeptical gorgeous eyes looked at me critically. "You don't have a suntan," he noted.

"I have delicate skin and always wore a helmet or hat." I began to move my pinky up and down in a somewhat awkward caress of his skin.

"Delicate skin, huh?"

"Yes." My hand took his, bringing it up to the side of my face and making him cup my cheek. I held his hand there with my own though not firmly enough that he could not pull away. He could have pulled away. He chose not to. I kissed the bottom of his palm.

His hand jerked away from me, but he did not stand up.

I opened my legs wider so our knees would touch. Again, he did not pull away.

His eyes held such want and confusion. I wished to pull him into a hug and comfort him. That did not happen. Instead, I put my hand on his leg.

"I would very much like to kiss you, Captain Rogers."

"Why?" he asked.

"Because I find you intriguing."

It was not the answer he was expecting. I leaned in just a little. He did not move. I leaned in a little more. He licked his lips and swallowed.

"My name is indeed Loki. I am with the allies. My last name, which I should definitely not tell you, is Thatcher." I gave him a gentle kiss then, short and chaste. "There, now was that so bad?"

"No," he replied. Then his face fell. "Bucky," he muttered.

"You're boyfriend?"

"No. No. Bucky is just a friend."

"I'm glad to hear it. So why was he wanting to get you away from me?"

The Captain looked down. "Because he knew you were my type. And because he knew…he knows I sometimes…I'm sometimes…"

"Attracted to men?" I offered.

He gave me a quick succession of tiny nods. It was adorable. Then the Captain looked at me with sadness. "I know there's something wrong with me."

"Because you sometimes like men? There's nothing wrong with you, nothing at all." I gave him another kiss, just a bit longer this time. Just as I began to pull away, he kissed me back. It was…sweet if a little forced. I almost enquired if he was new at kissing but thought that might upset him. Instead, I gave him another kiss, puckering my lips just so before pulling away. Then I let him kiss me, pleased that he copied my technique. And so that way, trading one kiss for another, I taught him how.

He was such a good student, patiently accepting each lesson. The only time he faltered was when I first let my tongue wander into his mouth. He didn't know what to do with it. But when he kissed me back I showed him. There was no turning back then. There was no need to go forward. We sat there kissing, our hands barely exploring, until it began to turn dark. I have no idea how long we were at it. I could have stayed there twice as long and been content.

It grew dark, and he asked if I was hungry. The funny thing was that I wasn't until he asked. Then I was famished. We briefly discussed our options and decided on a small restaurant he knew where not many soldiers went. The walk to get there was a bit long, side by side, hands in our own pockets, but it was worth it. The tables were small. Our legs couldn't help but touch. And that touch seemed as necessary as breathing air. It was enough to make up for being apart while getting there.

We drank wine and ate I don't know what. It wasn't important. What was important were his eyes and his mouth and the feel of his leg against mine. We talked. We talked of home. He told me about a place called Brooklyn with busy streets and alleys. I told him of the Asgard, calling it the English countryside. I told him very little, of course, prompting him with questions to learn more about him.

He paid, telling me I could get it next time. I so wanted there to be a next time.

The walk back to his room was excruciatingly long. And when we finally arrived, it was, I admit, a bit awkward. After we both used the bathroom, we found ourselves on his bed again.

The anticipation was extraordinary. I wanted nothing more than his lips on mine, and yet I found it hard to move. I was nervous.

I was nervous.

He leaned in. How could I not do the same? Our lips barely brushed against each other. A heartbeat later our lips were joined. His tongue entered my mouth, and it felt like I was where I belonged.

I unbuttoned my jacket with his help. He pushed it off my shoulders. The same occurred with his. Shoes were kicked off. We scooted higher onto the bed until I could completely lie down. It was a small bed, but it served our purpose well. He was on top of me, his hand running over my shirt and up to my neck.

The ties were loosened then discarded. The top buttons of our shirts were unfastened. And we kissed.

No more clothes came off, though our legs did become entangled. And we kissed the rest of the night. I could have kissed him for several nights thereafter, but Thor had a short attention span then. Has it gotten any better you think?

_A little. So you kissed the rest of the night. Where did you sleep? _

I slept there in his bed. We were both fully clothed. But I could still feel his warmth through the shirts and trousers we wore.

"Waking up next to him was…It was like waking up from a beautiful dream and discovering it was real. He was real.

He was also already awake, sketchbook and pencil in hand, looking at me then drawing whatever he thought he saw.

"Hey, Sleepyhead," he smiled.

I stretched. "Good morning, Steve," I replied. "Have you been awake long?"

"Long enough."

Long enough for what I did not know. And once he put down the sketchpad and began kissing me again, I did not care.

His lips were as welcoming as they had been the night before. He murmured my name, sending a shiver up my spine. All the warmth and innocence of the night before was suddenly turning hot and wanting. But I almost did not want to ruin this with sex.

_Almost? So you had sex then. _

No. My shirt was open. His dress shirt was off, but he was wearing a t-shirt. My hands were under it, against his skin, pinching his nipples when there was a loud rap at his door.

He mouthed 'Sorry' to me then yelled for the person's identity. It was, of course, his best friend Bucky Barnes coming to see if Steve wished to go have breakfast.

The Captain went to the door and opened it just a little. I hid in the bathroom. They had a short conversation. It was difficult to make out what they said. In the end, Bucky left, and Steve remained. He took my hand in his and began playing with it a little.

"I'm going to have to go soon," I said.

"Can I see you again?"

"It is doubtful, but you never know. Perhaps one day our duties will bring us back together. But by that time you'll probably have the girl and will have forgotten all about me."

"Never," he said. He said, "Never."

_Loki? _

We kissed some more, though the heat never really rekindled.

He went out for a brief period to pick up some pastries for breakfast. They were delicious. The rest of the morning was spent holding each other in bed, clothes still on, hands wandering to fairly safe areas.

Then it was time to meet Thor. We kissed one last time, and I tried to memorize the moment.

I later convinced Thor to return to Midgard. I had hoped that newspapers and my magic would help me locate him. But I was too late. He had disappeared somewhere between England and North America. People were searching for him. I recognized his girl's picture in the paper. About that at least I had been right. He did get the girl.

It wasn't until Mr. Barton showed me the files on the Avengers Initiative that I saw him again. It was a shock. And there it is – the first time I met Captain Steve Rogers.

_Did he remember you? _

No, at least not that I could tell. So either he is an amazing actor or he did not remember.

_We could remind him. _

No. If he remembers that night at all, if he remembers that Loki, I don't want to tarnish the memory.

_Does Thor know any of this? _

No. And I would like to keep it that way. Promise me you'll say nothing. Promise me, Mother.

_I think you're making a mistake. If Captain Rogers knew you were the same Loki, perhaps he could help you. _

No, Mother. Please. Let it be. He may not even remember it. Perhaps I dreamed it. Perhaps I saw him in that bar and imagined the entire thing. Now will you promise not to tell Thor?

_I promise. _

Good. Good. Thank you.

_All I want is for you to be happy, Loki. If the Captain -_

No. And I will not hear any more about it.

_You obviously still care for him. _

I care for no one.

I'm sorry, Mother. Of course I care for you. Just, please, let us speak no more about it.

_I must go anyway. War has erupted on many of the nine realms since the Bifrost was destroyed. We are to have a meeting about it. Good-bye, Loki. I love you. _

And I you, Mother. Be careful.

_I always am. _


End file.
